teenage dreams in a teenage circus
by groovystars
Summary: my take on clint barton's backstory. takes inspiration from comic verse and movie. t for some violence and mild cussing.


**stupid thing came to me at 1:00 am. this is comic verse (so clint's a circus dude, sees Tony, is all NFIOEANIESGSOD THAT IS AWESOME and becomes the archer prince of everyone's heart) with a hint of movie and my imagination.**

**disclaimer: i am not joss whedon, or stan lee. my awesomeness levels are significantly lower.**

* * *

_'How many agents did I-'_

* * *

He was only around seven when he made his first kill. His arrow went clean through the unsuspecting rabbit's eye, pinning it to the wall. Clint watched it twitch, and then turned around to see the Swordsman's pleased expression. Barney whooped and ran to hug his brother, but his trainer shook his head.

Maybe it wasn't his first human kill, but he still felt something.

* * *

Money was the root of all problems, really. It was the reason his dad beat his mom. It was the reason the orphanage gave them food poisoning every other week. And it was maybe the reason Clint was lying on the ground, choking on his own blood.

'Sorry, Clint. Maybe this will teach you to try and make a circus honest.' The Swordsman said, before sauntering away.

'Jesus,' Clint spluttered, and he watched the blood spray from his mouth.

He thought of his brother and got on his knees. He thought of putting an arrow through the Swordsman's crotch and started staggering towards the general direction of the hospital.

* * *

'Where are you?!' Barney shouted at him through the cheap, disposable cell phone he still had.

'You never came to help me.' Clint shouted back. 'I shouted your name, Barney! I waited for you to come! Brothers, huh? Well, you aren't my brother if you won't help me out.'

'I couldn't hear you.'

'We were gone for a day, you didn't even think to look outside?'

'You wouldn't do it for me.'

'You know I would do anything for you, _brother._'

Pause. A deep sigh. Chills went up Clint's back, as he prepared himself for the soul-crushing words that usually followed _that _particular sigh.

'Maybe you aren't my brother.'

_Pause. Breathe. Think. Breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Shit._

Clint hung up.

* * *

It's been two days, so he calls again.

_This number is not in use. Please redial again._

_This number is not in use. Please redial again._

_This number is not in use. Please redial again._

No-one thinks to look at him.

* * *

After a while, performing's all he knew. Hawkeye, they called him. The Greatest Archer, they called him. He bounces from circus to circus, never staying stationary. He basks in the applause, wishing he could do better.

He wishes the targets he hits in the bullseye were the Swordsman's face. It would feel better.

* * *

One day, he thinks of Barney and shoots the assistant in the head in front of the new circus he was hoping to join. He runs.

* * *

'A circus? I have to save a circus?' screeches a metallic voice.

Clint turns and raises an eyebrow at the flying figure in the sky. It's red and gold, and obviously new. Clint rolls his eyes. Publicity stunt, obviously. Well, it would be if it wasn't for what appears to be a giant version of the man in the sky walking his way towards the circus, leaving a trail of destruction.

'Jesus, it's a circus. Okay. Clench up, flying monkey, before my evil, malfunctioning robot kills you.'

An arm suddenly lifts him up into the sky, and Clint punches whoever's holding him. Crap, it's made of metal. Iron, maybe. He remembers the Swordsman's cane and how it was iron.

'Let go of me!' he bellows into the ear- does this thing even have ears?

'I save your life and you deafen me? Really?'

'SHUT UP AND DROP ME SOMEWHERE SAFE YOU SONOVA-'

'Language, young one.'

'I'M SEVENTEEN, NOT SIX.'

'I'm twenty and I said language,' the metal man said before dropping him onto a trampoline in some kid's family.

* * *

And Clint learns his name's Tony Stark, Iron Man, testing out his brand new Iron Man armour or something like that. He got a firm telling off by the current President and pays for all the damage- _of course he's richer than a billionare- _and carries on perfecting the armour. Then his butler dies of natural causes and he stops.

* * *

So he puts on the purple circus costume he had and goes around, shooting robbers and murderers in the groins with the arrows Clint made himself. The rapists get three, Clint thinks, since they're bigger bastards and the arrows fly from his bow, giving out some messed-up justice. Better than becoming a cop. Cops didn't do anything. Cops just came in your home, looked around, ignored bruises and broken noses and declared the household fit to continue.

He huffs and fires. The three arrows would've been perfect, if he hadn't have ducked at the last second, nestling in his neck.

* * *

The Arrow Murderer, they called him, he sure does put on a show. Maybe he avoids the usual areas of crotches and goes for the eyes, neck, ears, feet and (for one particularly nasty individual who was a robber, a murderer and a rapist all in one) both of the eyes, both of the ears and both of his balls and kills them all. Better than the guilt, he supposes.

Only in some cases. The guilt preys on his mind.

* * *

He's staring at a woman with startling red hair somewhere in Budapest where the circus took him when a gun hits him in the head and he's out. Is this death?

It's depressingly dark. Hell was supposed to be red and full of fire, right?

'My name's Phil Coulson. I need to talk to you about SHIELD.'

Shit.

* * *

SHIELD. Named after Captain America (who Agent Coulson seems to be a massive fan of). A highly polished military engine, which dealt with the supernatural and suspicious threats, whilst shielding the world. Pun intended. Clint smiled a wry smile, before shooting a special arrow which grew into handcuffs halfway through flight at a target. Half a millimetre off.

'Nice one.' Coulson praises him, before handing him the next assignment. 'It's your fiftieth. You don't get to do paperwork.'

'Thanks.' he replies before taking the folder and leaving.

_The Red Room, _it says._ Take down the influential leaders. Mr Drakov, Natalia Romanova, Colonel Stray._

* * *

He's about to shoot at the woman with flaming hair in the gym and he feels like a monster. So he shoots at the fire alarms, knocks her out with a special stunning arrow and takes her to Coulson, who raises an eyebrow judgingly.

* * *

They clean their ledgers together.

* * *

_'How many agents did I-'_

_'Don't. Don't do this to yourself, Clint.'_

So he doesn't.


End file.
